


The Bonds That Break Us Make Us Stronger

by A_Fine_Piece



Series: A Thin Red Line [38]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Mentors, Scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5810902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fine_Piece/pseuds/A_Fine_Piece
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the prospect of war on the horizon, Byakuya turns to an old mentor for training.  Hisana reviews data for the Second, making a terrible discovery.  Renji and Rukia discuss how training is coming along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bonds That Break Us Make Us Stronger

 

There is a rhythm to their madness. There is a certain beat that drums, that undulates between the clacking of steel. The sound is piercing, and it grabs you. It pulls you down. Down, down, down. And, just when you think you've hit the bottom, you've got further to go until it feels like the ground has swallowed you whole.

He feels the tension, taut like the skin over a war drumhead. His blood hammers through his veins. His pulse quickens, but his nerves prove quicker yet. The sparks of his neurons firing sets the adrenaline pumping through his veins aflame.

Quick isn't quick enough. Not when he is with _her_ , the Goddess of Flash.

The stops are harder than the starts. His muscles pull tight, rigid, as he considers his next step.

His heart pounds in his chest. Its cries are heavy, but they tell him to ready his sword. It is instant, and it is electrical. His heart gives the command, but he is weary of its direction. It is a stubborn, greedy thing. It refuses the route, the easy, the expected. But, then again, that is to be expected.

To be a man of the squads, your heart cannot yield. Not to civility. Not to protocol. Not even to imminent defeat or demise.

No, if he is to survive, he must strive. He must will into existence what he wants, and he must be ruthless in the doing.

His brows set, and his gaze hardens. Right then he _feels_ it. He feels the calm of invincibility, the repose of a man who has chosen his fate, and that fate is success at all costs.

Moonlight, silvery-blue, reflects off the edge of his blade. It is as penetrating as it is dreadful. The power he wields is immense, but it is fractured in a thousand different pieces.

A reflection of his soul—a soul that is fractured. Torn in a thousand different pieces, flying a thousand different directions.

Exhaling a deep breath, he finds his repose, and he raises his pride. Instantaneously, he feels his resolve begin to swell in his chest, quashing all residue of doubt.

Emotions, however, are a terrible thing to conquer. The feelings, the memories, the horrors of years filled with loss begin to lap over the dam that he has meticulously structured.

The past has always been a difficult thing to tame, to master.

_It hasn't been mastered because it hasn't been truly felt._

Briefly, he wonders if his opponent already knows of this failing of his. Perhaps she actively put this realization into his head. Using her deviant ways and tricks, perhaps she has conjured this sudden vulnerability within him.

A smug look thins her lips as she watches him, and a devious light gleams in her amber-colored eyes. She is _waiting_ , like a cat stalking its prey. She is waiting for the opportune moment to pounce.

"Come, Little Byakuya," she purrs, voice throaty and words hanging thick in the humid, night air.

He hesitates, sparing a moment longer to discern her motives.

What foul thing will he find in one of her snares? Indeed, she is known for her mind games. He had fallen prey to several during his youth.

 _What now?_ There must be a new angle she thinks she has found to exploit because for all her strength and speed, Yoruichi's skill lays in her cunning. It is the thing that, even now, Byakuya admires about her (though he is loath to admit it aloud.)

Indeed, Yoruichi isn't bluster. She isn't brute force. She is swift, sure, but swift without forethought results in little else than an early grave.

"Too caught up in your schemes?" she teases when he retracts into his own thoughts instead of meeting her threat with one his own.

"Your plots are too superficial to require much thought," he says, deadpan.

It is a lie. He knows it. She knows it. He knows she knows it. But, he needs to buy time to determine just what she is after in this particular game.

"Well, then," she teases, pretending to take umbrage at his insult, "let's see if Little Byakuya can figure this one out."

Before she disappears, he is on her, having anticipated her sudden burst of speed.

Without mercy, he slashes fiercely, tearing the ends of her scarf to pieces.

"Joke's on you," she says, and confidently crosses her arms in front of her chest as she eyes him from the safety of a nearby branch.

A sly grin splits her lips, and her keen eyes gleam in the moonlight. "I wouldn't struggle if I were you," she warns, taking great pleasure at Byakuya's expense.

Indeed, he would not _dream_ of struggling in the demon's razor wires that trap him. In his wildest imagination, he did not think she would _actually_ ensnare him.

"Feeling powerless, little Byakuya?" she teases as she hops down from her perch and circles below him. Her lips pull to the side as she considers her words, off-handed as they may have been. "I bet that is it, isn't? I bet being tangled in my wires is _pretty_ upsetting for someone like you."

A flash of reiatsu is all it takes to dissolve the wires, and he lands with a graceful flourish on the leafy forest floor. "Enough," he states firmly as he adjusts the fall of his robes across his shoulders.

Yoruichi snickers at the suddenness of his haughtiness. "Just like always, Little Byakuya," she sighs under her breath and shakes her head.

He looks askance in her direction. There is a look shackled in his eyes, one that she is not anticipating, one that intrigues her.

"Byakuya?" Her voice sounds faint, a mere ghost.

He does not heed her calls. He does not stop. Nothing in him bids him to acknowledge her.

She has found him. In her binds, she knew exactly the right pressure points, even if she may not be aware of her own genius.

It is something in him that has always been a source of trouble.

 _Control_.

Indeed, control is something his grandfather demanded. It is something his clan demands. His rank? It, too, demands control. Even his Zanpakutō demands it. To wield Senbonzakura with any skill, he must be in total control. A stray emotion could end him, or worse.

To be bound and tied. . . .

It is something he feels acutely. Every day. His actions are not his own. Perhaps they have never been. No, his actions represent his clan, his sons, his wife, his sister, his men, his pride.

Oh, the binds that ensnare him, how they have grown. How tangled they have become.

Stronger must he become, he decides.

Much stronger, now that it is war.

* * *

"The signature," Soifon states, voice clear and crisp, "differentials are alarming."

For all her prickliness, Hisana likes the Captain. She is strong. Her mind is keen. She is driven.

She is in a man's world.

Hisana watches with her youngest in her lap. She knows Soifon hates it, seeing the children. But, Hisana didn't ask for this confinement, did she?

 _The Second is no place for children_. The words are now permanently imbedded in Hisana's head.

She doesn't disagree with the Captain's assessment. The Second is no place for children. The Second is no place for her, either.

Hisana watches as the Captain flips through the data model generated by the towers. The model illuminates the large table at which they all sit.

The model consists of a 3-D map of the entire Soul Society. Within the map there are numerous power signatures; there is a unique signature for each soul and hollow present in Soul Society. The data is captured at various intervals. Black signifies hollows. White and yellow signify those with strong spiritual power and pressure, and blue signifies those without much reiatsu.

Hisana watches as Soifon fast-forwards the model from the time of its inception to the present day.

Shortly before they reach the present, Hisana catches something that doesn't make sense. It is instinctive. Her brain does not quite register _what_ , exactly, is amiss. But, her body tenses at whatever her subconscious has pieced together.

"Captain," she interjects, voice light, "could you move the model back?"

Everyone in the room turns to Hisana. Their eyes are on her, searching for signs that she may have finally lost her marbles.

She hasn't.

The power signatures weren't quite right. Something is off. There are abnormalities.

Captain Soifon silently obliges.

"I don't understand," Hisana murmurs.

Lord Konoe concurs. It is a flash, but he perceives an error with the technology his family had a hand in developing. "What is that?"

 _That_ being the operative word for the electric-blue signature that flashes near the Seireitei.

"Ah," Soifon says, seemingly reading their confusion. "That was during Vice Captain Kuchiki's execution. There are many abnormalities during that time."

"Yes, I see," Hisana says, not willing to let the point drop, "But despite the tumult, the signatures that should be associated with captain-level reiatsu appears to be predicted with great accuracy. Yet, we are left with several aberrations."

Soifon observes the signatures from that day. "The intruders from the World of the Living," she observes.

"Which are which?" Hisana asks, brows furrowed.

She has a sinking suspicion about the Shiba boy and where he was likely stationed during the ensuing skirmish, having heard that he battled the Captain of the Tenth on the day of the execution. His signature was highly unusual, constantly fluctuating as Soifon executes a time lapse of the model.

Hisana isn't sure what to make of this, and, likely, the others have long given up on speculating what, exactly, to think of the young Shiba.

"What of the others?"

"One is the Quincy," Soifon responds, hesitantly.

"Which one?" Hisana inquires.

"At the time, the Quincy was dueling with Captain Kurotsuchi in the eastern quadrant of Seireitei. The Quincy appeared to be partnered with the female intruder." Soifon gestures to the eastern quadrant, where the electric blue power signature glows with great ferocity.

The girl's signature glows green. Despite her ability, their instrumentation does not catch her power signature with any great sensitivity.

The fourth intruder, another boy, glows orange. Another anomaly.

"Aizen's _creations_ appear to be purple in this model," Soifon states as she lapses the time to the present day.

"Wait," Hisana calls, thoughts racing in her head.

Soifon stops the lapse. "Yes?" Instinctively, she pulls the model back until she sees what has been perturbing Hisana.

"Oh, no." The Captain of the Second's voice drops when realization hits.

It is easy to miss as the data appears incomplete, but, when the Captain catches the frame, she sees it. Electric blue and purple dots scatter throughout the map of Soul Society, including the Seireitei.

_This was only a week ago._

* * *

Something is brewing. The air is sharp, and the mood is decidedly frantic.

Something _terrible_ is brewing, Renji muses as he crosses the path in front of the Sixth, where he is supposed to meet Rukia for lunch.

She isn't there, and he isn't surprised.

Five days so far, and she hasn't been on time once yet.

"Would you like to wait in the containment room?" the guard calls down to him from his tower at the Sixth.

Renji sighs. "No, thanks!" He waves his arm eagerly over his head.

_Don't want to confuse the princess._

Instead, he waits in front of the gate, like a dog begging for scraps. He hates waiting with only his thoughts to keep him company. His thoughts usually get him nowhere good fast.

Just before he finds the silence unbearable, he hears a familiar sound. "Renji!" Rukia shouts before he resigns himself to the curb.

His brows lift at the sight of her, and he grins.

It pains him to admit it, but he'd wait to the end of time for her. Just for _that._ Just for the swell in his heart when she comes barreling toward him, his name on her lips.

"How is the training?" he asks, not missing a step as they begin their way to a food cart.

Rukia orders the usual, dango. "Well." Her expression deflates as her mind lingers on the implications his question raises. "I don't know."

"You don't know what?" Renji clarifies.

Rukia brushes her internal worries aside. "It's nothing. She's improving."

It sounds a whole like Rukia is trying to convince herself, Renji thinks to himself.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Rukia all but exclaims as she stuffs a dumpling in her mouth.

Renji flashes a boyish grin. "Yeah, sure."

"Your captain must not work you much," she observes, cramming another dumpling in ravenously. It's as if she hasn't eaten in weeks.

Renji tilts his head at this. "Captain Kuchiki working you hard?" He knows the answer is no. He never sees them together. In fact, he hasn't seen much of the captain _at all_. And, he knows if anyone is pushing Rukia, it's Rukia, and, from the looks of it, she is pushing herself to her limits. But, for what aim? Well, he's not privy to that sort of information, but he suspects it has to do with Orihime and whatever it is that the Second and Twelfth have in store for the mortal teenager.

Rukia eyes him between chews, but she continues eating, as if she never heard him.

"Where is Captain Kuchiki?" he finally breaks down and asks.

Rukia shrugs nonchalantly, as if she could care less.

 _Ah, there's the rub_ , he thinks, repressing the urge to laugh. _She's still angry about the funeral._

In truth, he doesn't blame her. He'd be mad as hell if someone used him like her siblings used her. Fuck their schemes. Fuck nobles. And, fuck the Chambers.

_Speaking of which. . . ._

"Any news on the Chambers?" Renji watches her out of the corner of his eye. He's curious. Genuinely curious. The newspaper articles flying out of the Ninth made it all seem damn exciting.

"The trial begins next week," Rukia states as they move deeper into the market, to the cart that sells Renji's favorite, taiyaki. "I don't think it will last very long."

"Yeah," Renji agrees as he pays for his lunch. They did get the bastards dead to rights after all. Three noble families, their go-betweens, and several affiliated wise men. Or, was it four noble families? Hell if Renji can keep up with the court intrigue. He can barely catch a clue when it comes to the status of the defectors, Aizen _et al._ , and that concerns the Gotei 13 directly.

Would it be too much to ask for one branch of Soul Society to get their collective shit together?

"Still has to be a little disconcerting for your sister," he murmurs.

The lines in Rukia's face pull tight, and her lips slope into a frown. "I don't think it's the first time that men wanted her dead."

Renji stares at Rukia with wide eyes at her unexpected confession. What, exactly, could she be referring? He has his suspicions. Hell, half the Seireitei has their suspicions regarding the Lady Hisana. But, what does that mean? Did someone want her dead before? And, if so, who?

"Aren't you being a little cavalier about your _sister_ ," Renji interjects, half-chastising, half-mortified at this sudden turn.

Rukia's eyes widen, and she shakes her head. Her complexion blanches, and she stares at him as if he has misunderstood. "No. It's true."

Renji pauses for a second as he processes this.

_Damn, that is cold._

_And on that note . . . ._

He quickly pivots the discussion to another topic. "So, any word on the traitors?"

Rukia shakes her head. "Nothing from the Sixth."

"You feel it, though?" he asks, staring into the crowd as it moves in waves across the marketplace.

"I do," she replies cryptically.

It feels explosive, whatever _it_ is, as if they are sitting on a powder keg.


End file.
